<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the morning star by cirque</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256607">the morning star</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque'>cirque</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Climate Change, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mythology - Freeform, Nuclear Winter, POV Child, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, Primitive Culture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:42:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And so the sun went out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fic In A Box</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the morning star</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/gifts">TheseusInTheMaze</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>She was worshipped during the long winter, the first that man had seen. They had come shivering out their caves with eyes trained on the cold grey skies. There was a wonder in them, then, a curiosity that marked them out from the monkeys and the apes that had come before them, the uncomplicated beings that did not care to learn her name. Her name was Hausōs, and she was of the dawn, of the sun and its cruelty, sky-born, light-bringer, queen before all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was born with the rising sun, at the dawn of mankind. Before man, she had been a thought in the wind, a whistle down an empty valley. Rivers flowed and leaves fell, but no one called her into life. The mammoth and the megaloceros had no need for gods.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But man arrived like the warp of the ocean, and at long last was she named, like Father Sky and Mother Earth before her. Hausōs. The Dawn. She swept her way through the morning sky, and her colours were crimson, gold, and amber; the red of hot blood and the yellow of the sun himself. They named her and she came to be; the oldest type of magic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She danced in the young grass and let mankind praise her, let them worship and gather and send up their prayers into the cloudless sky. They were simple beings then, barely bipedal. They had simple wants: food, warmth, a story to believe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Every day she guided the sun over the horizon, from the edge of the world, which was flat in those days. She rent the moon from her placid slumber. They called her morning star, yes, that was her first name.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was beautiful, for a while, as all new things are. They called her Ishtar, Eostre, Uṣas, Eos, Aurora. So many names for her many colours that spread throughout the world as the sun rose and fell on the empires of man. She watched them grow. Their stories were woven in the Earth, now, so confident were they, so prolific. They built bridges, waged war, sung of all and sundry. They were magnificent.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon they had no need to believe in stories, and she faded like any star does at the end of their life; it was just nature.  The sun kept rising without her help and coloured the day with fire. She slept, long and heavy, and waited. She knew winter would come again, and mankind would be in need of a little fire.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ain’t burnin’ it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a book!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both had ahold of the book in question. They were both tugging. It was old, there was already breakage; this would not end well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne relented. He let Frankie cradle the precious book against her chest. It was unharmed mostly, its yellow pages safely unburnt. It was so beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you want to burn my favourite book,” she gasped. She touched the raised letters on the spine like they were the face of a loved one. They felt nice beneath her frozen fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you’re so attached to a book you’ve only just found. You ain’t even read it yet. We need kindling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…” This book was sacred to her, in a way that she hadn’t felt about the hoards of other books they’d burnt in the past. This book was special, this book had survived the blasts mostly intact, its pages a little frazzled at the edges, but its golden lettering was still intact, its pages still very readable. That kind of survival instinct needed rewarding, not chucking in the flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still: they had no fuel for the fire. She plucked free the last few pages, which was the glossary, and the first few, which detailed the author’s previous projects. Nobody cared about that, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne took them and flicked his lighter a couple of times, catching the yellowish paper alight. He tossed it down into the metal bin around which they were huddled, and the blackened wood and coal within caught up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s your darling book about?” Lorne was a sarcastic man by nature, but he tried to keep the derision out of his voice. Tried, yes, and failed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie shrugged, turning her shoulders inwards. “I dunno,” she flipped the book over so that she could read the blurb. There wasn’t much information there. A lot of the words she’d never come across before. She’d learned to read in fits and starts, and there had been no need for all these big fancy looking words. She could read some though, and she could read the title. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Lost Dawn’,” she read, “‘A co-co-com-compendium’--” here she glazed at Lorne, who shrugged. “‘A compendium of the… goddess? Goddess… known as Dawn and Eos and’… I don’t know what the rest means. Then it goes: ‘Her secret history, and the people who’... I dunno.” There were some words so unused that she had never had the chance to learn them. Out here, there wasn’t much time for reading. It was a miracle she’d ever learned what little she had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne raised one expert eyebrow. “Well. Sounds interesting. Certainly worth freezing to death for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We ain’t freezing to death,” she countered, “You got the fire going, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to spite her, several thick fat clumps of mushy grey snow landed on her outstretched hands. She recoiled, but it weren’t the acid type. Just the cold type. She shivered, even under her thick new parka she’d liberated from some unfortunate corpse earlier that week. She had a hat on too, she’d traded half a dead fox for it some towns away. And a scarf that had once belonged to her mother, or so she thought. The memories got a little fuzzy. But it was a nice scarf so she liked to pretend. No gloves, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got the fire going </span>
  <em>
    <span>tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lorne was still going on. “But what about tomorrow? And, look, we’re running out of coal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were. Frankie shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Read quickly,” Lorne advised, “Because starting tomorrow I’ll take two pages a day. That’s only fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie doubted she could read that quickly. Especially since it was full of all those strange words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right?” Lorne pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “Fair.” She didn’t know why she stuck with him. They didn’t get on, and it wasn’t just him wanting to burn her possessions. He was mean and grumpy and ate too much food, and he took most of what she scavenged for himself. He was always going on about the fire and the warmth and other people, and he had a gun he kept tucked away in his coat. He would stroke it when he thought she weren’t looking. He had a knife too, but that was no good against Mutts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had meant to ditch him several towns back, but he kept finding her. He was bigger than her, could walk faster and further, and he didn’t have a crappy ankle slowing him down. It was kind of him to let her stick around, she thought, though he buried that kindness pretty deep inside. He took pity on her maybe. Anyone else might leave her to suffer. It had happened to other people plenty of times. She was grateful to him, really, for not leaving her by the roadside somewhere up North.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the winter was getting worse, and if they didn’t make it to London in time, they would freeze and turn to ice themselves, or worse: the acid rain might get them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll have plenty of books in London,” he told her. “When we get there, maybe they’ll have this one you can borrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doubted it. She’d never seen a book as pretty as this one before, so even if they did have one in London they wouldn’t let someone like her borrow it. They’d keep it in a glass cage like they used to keep special things in in their museums. Gold and diamonds, that kind of thing. Proper treasures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long until we get there?” She wanted to know how much of her book would be left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne looked away. His fingers ghosted over his coat where his inside pocket was. He frowned, a tiny little movement but she caught it. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “A week. Maybe. If you walk quick enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down at her ankle guiltily. It was still swollen. Lorne said it was because she kept putting weight on it, but what did he expect her to do? She wore three pairs of thick wooly socks, but they had holes in and were almost ready for the fire. Her boots were old and trusty. And the special bandage they’d liberated from a picked-bare pharmacy was fraying too. It probably wasn’t offering much support now, but it was better than nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she’d stopped coughing up blood. That had been scary. Lorne said it was because she drank rainwater, but she wasn’t sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I see the map?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rifled through his bag and extracted the map, that holiest of papers that would, Lorne was certain, save their lives. London, circled in red pen, and the fabled safe zone. Food, warmth, other people. Maybe there would be a medic for her ankle. Once they were in London Frankie could forget about her mum dying, about Robbie, about Durham in general.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would she ever forget about Robbie, though? He’d said she belonged to him. How far did she have to travel to escape that? Would London be enough?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flicked through the pages, trying to distract herself. “Where are we now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. She’d seen signs recently for Nottingham. They’d come a long way since Durham. It felt like forever. She thought of her mother, dead or dying or worse, all those days ago. She felt the tears prickle in her eyes at the memory. She could barely recall her face. Why had the memory faded so quickly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in Worksop,” Lorne said. “Near Sheffield. I want to make it to Leicester by the end of tomorrow. Can you manage that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She probably couldn’t, but her mother had raised her to be determined. “Yes. It barely even hurts now.” She was a terrible liar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found Worksop on the map. It was surrounded by so much green, but all Frankie saw was grey. The falling sleet, heavy with toxins, was staining the map and she tried to cover it with her body but that was no good. In the end she shoved it back into Lorne’s pack. It didn’t matter where they were, anyway. Everywhere was the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was tired, so she curled herself around her book. She flicked through the pages at random. There were pictures, photographs of the world before it ended, real pictures. Most of it was weird stuff, statues and paintings and even the occasional plate or bowl or a long pointy thing, which she guessed was what they used to use before guns. But every now and then, every page or so, was a person standing with some of the objects, just a person, smiling big and wide. They looked happy, healthy, like they’d never even seen acid rain or kicked their way through mushy ash that was, at least a little, made of dead people. Like they’d never eaten rat or got sick from eating rat. Just people, looking happy. It made her happy to see, to know that life had been that way, once upon a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears came prickling back, so she turned her attention to the words. She started at the beginning. Chapter One. They used to write things in chapters. Chapter One. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Goddess we know as Dawn, or Aurora in the Roman tradition (cat--- </span>
  </em>
  <span>she frowned, sounding it out, but it sounded wrong, </span>
  <em>
    <span>--cat-ee-gory-cally not of Disney fame).</span>
  </em>
  <span> Well, that made no sense (who was Disney?)... </span>
  <em>
    <span>has her roots in the stars themselves.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her eyes grew tired. It must have been a bedtime story. She slept that night fitful and cold, and dreamed of stars.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She woke and found her fingers tracing over the raised lettering again. She’d been hugging it as she slept. It was light in her hands, like the memory of softness. There was not much about the world that was soft, these days. Frankie had never known softness. Her world had always been ash and ice. The bombs had fallen years before she was born, when her mother was little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne coughed. He was packing everything away for the day, moving around above her, leaving behind little clouds of steam as he breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put the book away,” he said, “We’re moving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked longingly into the fire, half-dead by now. The dregs of wood were black and spent. “But I’m still tired.” She was thinking of her ankle, throbbing like the flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve rested enough. We don’t have time to stop and read books. We have a destination, kid, and if we don’t make it we’ll probably end up freezing to death. Do you want that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. Of course she didn’t. She closed the book and slipped it into her backpack. Lorne killed the fire and put the metal bin back into the cart. It hadn’t been going long enough to heat up the metal. He stuffed the map back into his own backpack and shouldered it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something cool to show you,” he said, in his mysterious voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie felt her brain switch on. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a surprise. You’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was normally wary of surprise, but this one didn’t seem immediate, so she shouldered her own bag and together they set off down the ash-laden street. They had been sheltering in an old mini mart, and they stepped in unison over the shutters. They’d been destroyed in the blast, crumpled right in on themselves. The acid rain had eaten away in little streams down what remained of them. She didn’t care, and kicked at them as they passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I read and walk?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, long and heavy. “If you must. But you’ll miss out on all this beautiful scenery.” He gestured wildly to the open world, the burnt-out houses, the derelict walls, the felled lamp posts, the cars long since looted. And everywhere that persistent covering of thick grey ash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie didn’t care about the scenery, as long as she could keep one eye on Lorne so she didn’t fall too far behind. She opened the book again. Someone had written in the margin: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lucifer?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She didn’t know what that meant. They’d scribbled it out and written </span>
  <em>
    <span>Venus?</span>
  </em>
  <span> underneath. She decided to ignore it and carry on. She was almost at the end of the first page. Lorne was welcome to it afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn was known for her epithets (???) as light-bringer, day-starter, she of the gold and crimson. </span>
  </em>
  <span>‘Crimson’ meant ‘red’, she was mostly certain. There was a whole paragraph she couldn’t read, except for several words about names. She didn’t even think it was English. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In the prehistoric Cro-??? culture of northeastern Ukr… Ukraine? The sun h-heralded the new day, signalling the end of the often-dangerous night. Dawn brought warmth and safety.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her ears pricked at that. Warmth? She needed as much of that as she could get. How did Dawn bring warmth?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know Dawn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne laughed. “Aye, we had a fling, a while back. Why? She spreading rumours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t sound right. “She’s in this book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A character? Can’t help you, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It says she brings the new day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne stopped walking, turned around and rolled his eyes in her direction. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The </span>
  </em>
  <span>dawn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fucking dawn. God you’re thick. It’s talking about the dawn, as in when the sun comes up. You’re reading a book about the sunrise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she protested. “It’s about a goddess. She brought warmth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stories,” he said dismissively, “Old wives’ tales. People believed all sorts of shit before the world ended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s real. There’s even a picture, look--” she tried to show him one of the smiling people, but he wasn’t having it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored her and carried on walking, and she reluctantly followed him. She kept reading as they started walking uphill. There was a lot about temperatures and an ice age, whatever that was, and a great deal about angels and a god and something about a fall. It was a bit beyond her reading skills, she knew that much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne stopped them at the top of the hill, and cleared his throat. She looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘What’ she says. What! I’ll tell you what. Tonight we sleep like kings. You’ll like this.” He waved his hands at the scenery before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trees, bushes, all of them overgrown, but beyond that she could see a thin little pathway, and a stream, and beyond </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a great gathering of rocks. Huge rocks, bigger than she’d ever seen, stretching up tall and fearsome into the grey sky. They framed the pathway, and the water flowed between them like they’d been made for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s…” but she wasn't sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called a gorge,” Lorne said. “Creswell Gorge, to be precise. These rocks? You’ll love this. They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>caves.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s a cave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a house built into the rocks. People used to live in them, ages ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before the bombs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Way before that. Prehistoric, like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prehistoric! She’d read about them. “Oh! Cro- Cro…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cro-Magnon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Had he been reading the book in secret?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Cro-Magnon lived in caves. They used to build big fires and sit around them. Sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed at that. This was alright, she decided, something worth getting excited about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne led her down some steps and onto the little pathway. She pressed her hands against the rocks, old as time. They felt warm, warmer than she expected at any rate. They were green with moss and mildew, and grey with ash and dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The caves will be locked off,” he explained. “But I have a little something for that.” Frankie looked at the cart he was pulling behind him. There, underneath the fire bin, was a crowbar, and bolt cutters. Lorne came prepared, she couldn’t fault him there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they approached the caves, Frankie reached out and picked a blackberry from the brambles. She wanted so badly to eat it, to taste it. She’d never eaten one before, no one she knew had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat that and you’ll be sick for days. That’s a sure way to start coughing up blood again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to eat it,” she rolled her eyes. She let the berry fall and she squished it under her boot, sending purple flesh splattering upwards. It looked like blood, if you squinted. It was a shame, really, that these fruits still grew even though they couldn’t eat them. The poison from the bombs had ruined them, she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought put her in mind of a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t the caves get destroyed in the bombs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne shrugged. “I hope not. Probably not. They’ve lasted a millenia, through all sorts of crap. The meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs, the floods, the plague. A little nuke ain’t going to hurt ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why not? It had everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She followed him up a little track that diverged from the main path. There were steps, big ones built into the hill, and she trudged up them. Her lungs were still sore from coughing up blood and she struggled to breathe a little as she went. At the top was a sign: Robin Hood cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Home sweet home,” Lorne drawled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough there were railings secured by a padlock, and he fetched the bolt cutters. He got to work while Frankie peered inwards. It was dark. It didn’t look like a home, but then she’d been homeless for so long, maybe she’d forgotten what one looked like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lock broke and fell to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normally I’d say ladies first, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was fine with him going first. She shuddered. It looked like the sort of place where insects and such hung out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will there be spiders?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re never happy. I bring you all this way and all you’re bothered about is poxy spiders! Yes, there will be spiders, but we’re the ones invading their home, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” She kept her mouth shut and followed him into the dark, ignoring any creepy feeling on the back of her neck. They had to crouch down low which was uncomfortable, especially for her ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were the Cro-mangas really short?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cro-Magnon. And no, not really. They just lived like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed awkward, bent double practically. They took several uncertain steps and then there was a little raised edge, a step of sorts. After the step was a very narrow passage indeed, but then the room opened up. She stood up straight at last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me light the fire.” Lorne busied himself with the bin and the coals. “Give me some of your book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tore out the first two pages, the ones that talked about the warmth and security. Ironic, she thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flame curled itself into being, and threw shadows all around them. He touched the kindling to the coals, and they took after an icy moment, and then Frankie gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was beautiful. The walls were covered in drawings, animals and human hands and little figures. Red, no--</span>
  <em>
    <span>crimson,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and black and white. There was graffiti too, but wasn’t that more of the same?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne settled himself down beside the fire, crouching on the dusty stone. “I’m afraid it’s tinned ‘meat’ for dinner tonight. Cat food, probably. It ain’t labeled.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. It beat going hungry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Robbie will find me in London?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” said Lorne, perhaps a little too quickly. “He’s a coward. Typical coward, that’s all. He won’t leave his princedom by the sea, no matter how badly he wants you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought of Robbie. She’d been trying to put him from her mind, but he was like a sickness creeping in. She could see him now, those pale bony hands, the whitewash of his ugly wrinkled face. She could smell his peppermint breath and, oh no, his voice was calling to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frankie. Sweetheart. Come sit on my lap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie doubted. He wanted her pretty bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But just say he comes after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne tapped his chest where his inner pocket was. “What do you think this is for? Now, c’mon, sit down. Read your book, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat opposite him, and began to read. There was more about this goddess, and her warmth, the way she lassoed the sun and pulled it across the sky in her majestic chariot, which Frankie knew was a type of cart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright me warmth,” she shivered. “Bring a new day. I want to see the sun again. Dawn, Eos, Austra, Aurora, bring me warmth, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so cold. Even though they were out of the worst of it, her fingers were still frigid, and her toes were still numb beneath their many layers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it’s real?” Her voice cut through the close air. Her words turned to fog in front of her face. She knew he wouldn’t, but she wanted to talk about it all the same. He was all she had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Lorne was busy, digging through his backpack in search of cat food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dawn. Dragging the sun across the sky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, the sun does move across the sky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “Yeah, but that’s science, kid. Physics and that. You’re talking about magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stories. It’s all well and good, but none of it applies to real life. Especially not </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> real life. This--magic?--it’s bullshit. You’d learn this if you’d went to school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie frowned at that. She couldn’t help when she was born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s real,” she decided. She closed her eyes and imagined what Dawn would look like, a beautiful terrible woman with eyes like fire. It would hurt to look at her, like it hurt to look at the sun too long. She’d be kind and calm and she wouldn’t tell Frankie it’s all bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring me warmth,” she whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She ain’t listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you ask nicely she might.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no point praying to a god I don’t believe in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie thought there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>point. “We need all the help we can get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at her. “Okay. Dawn, mate, if you’re up there, we need you.” Frankie frowned at him and he added: “Please. Good enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It says she has a lot of names, maybe we should try some of them.” She leafed through the book. “It says her first name was… I can’t read it.” She held it out for Lorne to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hausōs,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hausōs. Alright. Hausōs, bring us warmth. Send away this winter. We’re sorry for causing it.” All she’d learned of life before the war she’d read from books, half-understood snippets that had survived the bombs. But she knew enough to know that mankind had caused this terrible winter. Bombs were activated by buttons, buttons were activated by people. And so the sun went out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just eat your dinner,” Lorne sighed. “And get to sleep. We’re making it past Leicester tomorrow, whether you’re tired or not. And I don’t want any complaining about that ankle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had every intention of complaining about her ankle. Maybe he’d let her ride in the cart awhile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she ate her cat food and shut up about magic.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was cold, and it was dark. The stars were blotted out. What had happened to her domain, her favourite of the celestial bodies? Besides the sun which was a matter of course; there was no point comparing stars after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The abyss was silent, even as she tried to swim through it. The stars were going out. There was a thick covering of ash everywhere she looked, from the highest peak to the lowest slum. Her people were dead, most of them, and those that lived were barely recognisable. She could not parse it. She could barely see them through the smog. They had been so happy, so healthy. They were destined for great things, but destiny was a bitch, sometimes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hausōs, light-bringer, herald of the new day, opened her eyes anew. There was work to be done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A little voice was praying to her in the darkness. “I hear you,” she tried to reply. “Keep talking.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She awoke before the sunrise and watched it happen. There was a beauty in the dawn, in the first precious rays of sunlight, even if they were hidden under the smog. There wasn’t a sunrise so much as a gradual lightening of the clouds, but she could imagine. It was pretty all the same. The warmth it brought was imperceptible, usually, but Frankie felt her toes defrost somewhat. Weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you warm?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne laughed. “I’ve never been warm kiddo, and neither have you. We wouldn’t know warm if it slapped us in the face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still. She wiggled her toes. How odd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne handed her a half-empty can of peaches. Fruit and syrup, the breakfast of kings. She ate it greedily, manners long gone. The syrup dribbled down her chin and her neck, leaving little sticky lines as it went. It was glorious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my birthday today,” she decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne was not pleased. “You had your birthday last week. In York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d eaten tinned toffee sponge. Lorne had even found some candles. Their first birthday together. Had it really been almost ten days since she’d left her mother for dead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know but I want another one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We only get one birthday a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, and shoved her backpack into her lap. “Start packing.” She hated him, just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, maybe it’s your birthday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m saving my birthday ‘til we get to London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was wise. She wished she hadn’t spent her birthday in icy York, now. They’d probably have real birthday cake in London, and maybe even a party. She’d never been to a party. People didn’t party after the end of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne coughed twice, and clutched his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” She didn’t care, but it would be nice to know in advance if he was going to die of the plague or cancer or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he groaned, looking anything but fine. Was he really sick? “I just want to get a move on. Maybe in London I’ll find a medic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought of her mother. Could a medic have saved her? Could they cure cancer yet, or was it always a death sentence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong is I have a nosy kid sticking her nose in my business. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They packed their things, killed the fire, and got on the road. Frankie side-eyed Lorne the whole time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt sad to be leaving the caves behind. She gave them one last look before returning her attention to the book. She was reading as she walked; she was getting quite good at it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was on chapter two. They could burn the rest of the first one tonight, she had it saved in her memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The rise of the proto-Indo-European culture,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she read now, and wasn’t that weird? Europe was just a wasteland now, wrecked by radiation, but she knew it hadn’t always been so. There had been a rise, once, before the fall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>PIE is hypothethethesized to have been spoken as a single language from 4500 BC to 2500 BC (Powell, Eric A, see b-bib-blograhy). </span>
  </em>
  <span>She understood the occasional word, but mostly it was just a blur. She was stupid to think she could ever read such a book, but she wanted desperately to know more about Dawn, about Hausōs.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The following cultural elements are known: worship of a sky god, (The Oxford Companion to Archaeology) *Dyḗus Ph2tḗr (lit. "sky father"; &gt; Vedic Sanskrit Dyáuṣ Pitṛ́, Ancient Greek Ζεύς (πατήρ) / Zeus (patēr)), vocative *dyeu ph2ter (&gt; Latin Iūpiter, Illyrian Deipaturos); oral heroic poetry or song lyrics that used stock phrases such as ‘the wheel of the sun’ (*sh₂uens kʷekʷlos). </span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>It barely made any sense to her, but she focused on the sun. There was a drawing, a real drawing in ink, where someone had drawn the sun’s journey across the sky. </span><em><span>This wheel, this event,</span></em> <em><span>brought more than just a new day to the PIEs. It structured their entire year, their crops, their ceremonies, their births and deaths.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“Anything useful in that book?” Lorne barked from up ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised her eyes and fixed him with her best look. “Not for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “Oh, look who’s feeling bitchy. Still sore I won’t pray to your new best friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I feel a little bit warmer today, don’t you? I think it’s because I asked her to bring the sun. She listened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done it, you’ve finally cracked. Well, I’m surprised you held out for this long. I thought for sure seeing your mother in that state would’ve cracked you weeks ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated him, especially so for reminding her about her mother. She had worked so hard to put that from her mind. What was wrong with believing? Why couldn’t he let her be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked past a sign that said ‘now leaving Nottinghamshire’. Frankie didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My book says the sun was essential for structuring people’s lives,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne shrugged. “Aye. It was.” He raised his hands as if to gesture to the slate-grey sky above, no sun visible. “Look--you want to believe in stories? Believe this: the sun don’t care. Your goddess has abandoned her people. She shirked her duty. You shouldn’t be praying to someone who don’t want to hear your prayers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she does hear,” Frankie couldn’t help from sounding like a bratty child, some kid who was two steps away from a tantrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll believe it when I see it.” And she knew he meant it literally: he couldn’t believe until he saw the sun itself, the radiant Dawn, the chariot making its way across the sky. Well, Frankie decided, she would pray enough for both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was about to tell him so, when he raised a hand. His whole body changed, his face went slack and serious. What did he hear? She dropped to her hands and knees in the ash, and the book flew somewhere to her left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay down!” he hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scrambled to find the book. It must have skidded underneath one of the burnt out cars. She tried to look but there was so much ash and slush clouding her view. She flattened herself against the pavement, trying to get a better view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mutts!” Lorne said. “Right behind us.” He was craning his neck to count them. “Three. Dogs, by the look of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mutts. Frankie felt her stomach turn to bubbles. Animals left out in the poisoned rain, gone feral, gone rabid. She looked over her shoulder and as they got closer she realised they weren’t dogs after all. They were sheep, frothing at the mouth, blood oozing from their red, red eyes. Their ash-laden wool coats were thick and heavy, several years worth of shearings had solidified and mattered on their sore, mutated bodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne reached in the cart and grabbed the crowbar. He tossed the bolt cutters to Frankie. He was saving the gun for a desperate situation. Mutts might be scary to Frankie, but they weren’t exactly unusual. Certainly not gun-worthy. There were worse things on the road. The knife would be useless against their thick fatty skin with its three inch blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne approached the trio of sheep carefully. He was an old hand at this. Sheep weren’t the smartest of creatures, even before the apocalypse, but still: that frothing, those bleeding eye sockets. It made Frankie shiver inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got behind them and thwacked one on the head with the crowbar. It turned, wild, and tried to rear up at him, kicking at him with sore and bleeding legs and mold-ridden hooves. Lorne reached forward and in one fluid movement jammed the crowbar down the sheep’s ear, meeting little resistance from its radiation-weakened skull. Frankie heard a fleshy pop as he pierced its brain. Poor thing. Thus impaled, the creature gave up the fight and sagged onto the ground to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Its fellows seemed incensed by the kill and they reared up at Lorne as one. He staggered backwards, trying to raise the crowbar again, but they were strong, mostly muscle where Lorne was skin and bone. He was on the floor in an instant, flailing in the muck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie got herself upright and abandoned the book, but what could she do? She couldn’t take on two mutts by herself. She could distract them, and she tried to do so, but they were bigger than they looked from far off; they came to at least her middle chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swung her bolt cutters at one and smacked him on the back leg. A little tuft of wool and ash shot upwards at the pressure. The sheep gave off an unholy sound, the sound of nightmares, a screeching that pierced her brain, almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give Lorne time to get to his feet. He hit out one mutt’s legs with his crowbar and then stamped on its skull when it fell, caving in the bone and blood and brain on the pavement. The fleshy mix was greenish and Frankie clamped her eyes shut but--too late, the memory of it was seared into her eyeballs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she was trying not to vomit, Lorne managed to pierce the remaining mutt through the chest, its rib bones ruined and soft, and in several drawn-out heartbeats it gave up and crumpled beside the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne waited until all was still, then he collapsed on the ground beside them, not caring that he was lying in blood and piss and god knows what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he shook his head. “That woke me up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie had tears in her eyes. Why was she crying? “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m grand, kiddo.” He was laughing, beneath his exhaustion. “Nice save, by the way. Totally saved my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He launched himself upright and pulled her close. He had never hugged her before. He didn’t even touch her, normally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The things I do for you,” he said, into her hair. He was getting blood and mess all over her, but it didn’t matter, they were alive, none of it mattered. Her ankle was hurting all the more now after the activity, but she didn’t really care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” she murmured, her voice practically ghostly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made a promise,” he replied. “I promised your ma I’d see you safe to London, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyone else would have left her to her fate, but somehow Lorne had decided to stay. The way he was looking at her, she thought he was about to kiss her for a mad second, but he pushed her away and bent down to pick up the fallen crowbar, reminding her of her book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” she shot back to where she’d been standing when she fell. She shoved as much of her body as she could underneath the car, stretching her arm out to dig around in the muck and spilled petrol gathered there. She felt it cling to her fingers, thick and stringy and mucous-like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne bent down beside another car, and extracted the book with very little effort. He held it in front of him like it was something unsavory. Could he even read?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie jumped upright and made to grab it off him, but he held it away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” he teased. “I think it’s for your own good if I take it away from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? That’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Life isn’t fair. I think you’re becoming obsessed with this book. It isn’t healthy. It’s just stories, kid, tales in the wind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that even mean?” She tried to pry his skinny fingers away but he was stronger than he seemed, stronger than her at any rate. He was getting sheep blood all over her book, all over the golden lettering on the front and spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what if it’s just stories? They make me happy.” As she said this she realised how pathetic it sounded, but it was the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be happy in the real world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked around at the ash and shit, the dead sheep, the burnt-out cars, the ever-present snow falling in heavy drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about the real world. The way it used to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Before.</span>
  </em>
  <span> So what if it’s just stories--the book says we need stories. It’s what makes us human. That’s why cavemen gave a name to the sunrise, that’s why they prayed for her every night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck’s sake,” he shoved the book at her chest and stomped away, back onto the road where he’d left the cart. “C’mon, pick the pace up, or we’ll never make it to Leicester.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She jogged to keep up with him, her backpack smacking against her as she went. She limped, her ankle getting hot again. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get to London?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bathe,” he said, with very little hesitation. He must have thought about this. “Bathe, with soap and everything. All the good stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t seen soap since leaving Durham, and even then you had had to trade an arm and a leg for it. Her baths had been few and far between, but so had everyone’s. It barely seemed to matter these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t had a good bath since I was--god, must be--five? Six? Before the bombs, at any rate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bathing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggled, pressing the book against her chin so that it left imprints. “No--the world?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never asked your mum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was too little to remember.” She caught up to him so that she was walking at his side, just a little below his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Well it was peaceful, for sure. And everyone was healthy, pretty much. There were no mutts, no people gone mad with the fear, even cancer was rare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone had cancer these days. They’d chopped her little finger off because of it when she got a lesion as a baby. It was just life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there war?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne shrugged. “Aye, war, sometimes, but not like this war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a burnt-out car crashed on the pavement. She clambered up the bonnet and pretended it was a tightrope as she walked along. Her ankle hurt but it was a numb ache, the kind she got when she didn’t use it for too long. When she got to the boot she jumped off, agile like a fox, landing on her good leg in front of Lorne. He shoved her cruelly, and she nearly lost her balance, but only nearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else was it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t have no clingy little brats hounding me, that’s for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not for the first time that day, Frankie wondered why he kept her around. What was he getting out of this? Other than whatever awaited them in London. Sanctuary. Peace. Food. Warmth. She thought of the sun. It should be high in the sky by now but there were only clouds. She thought of Dawn, of Hausōs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to see the sun shine, just once, just once in my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ride in the cart a bit?” she tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chewed his lip while he considered. Was he being a dramatic prat for a reason?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please…” she did the eyes, and tried to look as though she were suffering. She limped extra pathetically. It didn’t hurt that bad, not really, but she was tired after the fight. The panic made a home in her body and wrapped its arms around her stomach, squeezing tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in,” he relented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squealed and climbed in, leaning her back against the metal fire bin. It was a little uncomfortable between the crates and the crowbar, but she didn’t mind too bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just be quiet,” he said. “We’re almost in Leicester, and I don’t know if we’re going to run into other people or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt sick at the thought. The only thing that scared her more than mutts was other people. Wild, sick, desperate people. They were unpredictable at the best of times. Some people lived in gangs, and they were waging little wars of their own. Some people tried to make it on their own and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> were even worse, gone mad with the loneliness. Decent people were rare, at least on the road, and you didn’t want to take your chances waiting to figure out which they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne cleared his throat. “You never told me what you’ll be doing, soon as we get to London.” He jiggled the cart somewhat to get her attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn't know what to do." She was nervous, somewhat, a prickling in her chest, that they won't want her. That they'd know she left her mum to die. She didn't want to get too attached to the idea of a safe zone, just in case. But warmth, that was tempting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought. There were so many possibilities, so many things she’d never tried that awaited them in London. If it was all true. Food, safety, warmth. Yes, that was it, warmth. She would curl up and read her book for real, in peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get warm,” she said. “I heard they have electricity, some places. Wind turbines and that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Lorne cheered. “Central heating. Be still my beating heart. That’s a good one. Anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She considered as they reached the ring road. Leicester was a pretty city, or it had been once upon a time. Lots of red brick buildings, patches of grass, a castle a little way back. Of course it was grey, and spoiled, but she had imagination. The blast from the bombs had all but flattened the city. There was the odd wall still standing against all the odds. How strange, she thought, that someone had built those walls brick by brick, never knowing what they would have to withstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returned to her book, and Lorne returned to his disapproval of her book. She was reading about the dawn of civilisation, about people called the Mesopotamians and the Egyptians and the Greeks. The white hot sun went down to the underworld, which was where you went after death, in myth after myth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you know," she said. "That people used to use the sun to tell the time? Like, its position in the sky. They built these things called sund--" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sundials, yes, I know. I have one." He raised his wrist and tapped his watch. It had stopped working years ago, before she'd even met him. She rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked in silence through the ghost town. Well, Lorne walked; Frankie lounged. She looked around every corner, always expecting another person to jump out at them, or a mutt. It was getting dark, and even the half-demolished walls were casting tall shadows. They looked like people themselves, waiting to rip out Frankie’s throat--or worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve gotta find somewhere to bed down,” Lorne warned. “It’s getting late.” The night brought the ice anew, brought their breath out in fog and steam, brought misery and frost. It was impractical to spend a night anywhere other than around a fire, the bigger the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as the sun set behind its blanket of ash clouds, Frankie swore she felt… pleasantly warm. Temperate. Her toes didn’t hurt, her fingers still worked. It wasn’t snowing, for the first time in… thirty years? Thirty-five? It seemed so long ago. In fact, the skies were a uniform white, and between them Frankie saw she could spot the odd line of orange, peering out from behind the clouds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” she pointed. It looked like fire. How could the sky be on fire?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne wasn’t paying her any attention. He stepped into the low broken window of a pharmacy and kicked down the door from the inside. It shattered, a thousand pieces of red glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep it down,” he said as he pulled the cart indoors. “Didn’t I warn you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had, and normally she would obey, but now</span>
  <em>
    <span> the sky was on fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Look!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally looked. His face went all pinched, and he blew out a puff of air in disbelief. “Huh. That’s… That’s a sunset, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A sunset?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. The opposite of your precious Dawn. I ain’t seen one of them since the day it happened. The fourteenth of April, twenty-twenty-five. Wow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed happy to keep on staring at it for a while, so Frankie joined him. It was beautiful in a way the sky normally wasn’t. As far as she had known, the world was harsh and grey and dangerous. But this? This was mother nature saying good night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night,” she whispered in reply, and the sky glowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie awoke for the sunrise. As she watched the sky turn purple and red, beautiful crimson and gold. The clouds were thinner now, and little bursts of colour were leaking from all around them. If she squinted, maybe, she could see the blue beyond. It almost seemed too much, too many colours all in one place, too bright against her uncustomed eyes. Almost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blessed Hausōs,” she said, like they did in the book. “Thank you for this new day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne was finished packing away the cart. He came up beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really is something, isn’t it? I can’t believe this is happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a knowing smile. “It’s because we’ve been praying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I prayed </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’s not a very demanding goddess, is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Frankie thought Hausōs must just be grateful for a little attention after the long, long winter. It must be lonely up there, above the clouds, with no one but yourself to talk to, watching the planet consume itself. Such a long life, and a lonely one too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne finished with the cart and they set off on the road again. She said goodbye to Leicester just as the sun was fully up. The sky was gold and pink now, and the little blue patches were more and more. Was this what it looked like, before the end?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rejoined the M1, the long long road that would lead them straight to London. The concrete was cracked in places from the force of the blasts, and they had to dodge little mountains as they went. Occasionally there were bones, those that had not been vaporised in the radiation wave. No one had thought to bury them, then, and no one ever would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie snacked on a protein bar as they passed ruined cars and lorries. It was old and expired, and tasted of dust, but it was better than nothing--better, even, than cat food. Lorne had found it in someone’s house in Harrogate, shoved and forgotten beneath their sofa cushions. They’d been saving it, though for what they did not know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they walked, little rays of light danced here and there over the shining snow, little baubles dancing along her field of vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” she said, and when she looked Lorne was smiling too. He didn’t even try to hide it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her rays were glorious now. She could almost see through the cloud layer, that brownish grey canopy, to the world below. It was grey and burnt, a scar on the land, but her rays were reflecting back and she almost believed it could be fixed. That little voice, so hesitant at first, was getting louder, and now there was another voice. Two, where there once were none.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She curled herself about the Earth, that pale blue dot. She blew away the clouds and warmed the frozen lands. She thawed the place, and the people in it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She rose and set, rose and set, over and over. She was out of practice but the theory was the same. It was built into her, a part of her very cells. They had dreamed her to life, once. They would do it again. Her chariot was rusty from disuse, though it was not beyond repair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let them see your light. Let them see, let them have hope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put the book down and talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” She buried her face in the pages. It smelt of dust and rust and the wood after a fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The road stretched on beyond them, endless for all Frankie knew. She was walking on the white lines that ran down the middle of it so she didn’t lose her way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do I keep you around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meant it in jest but still, she was bitten by something cruel. “I don’t know--why do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growled. “Y’know, any other kid would be grateful for what I’ve done for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You practically kidnapped me!” She let her arms drop, revealing her red angry face to him. There were tears prickling her eyes again. She was thinking of her mother, that raspy breathing and her swollen tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here I thought we were getting along well. Bonding, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bonding?” she scoffed. “After what you did? I’ve been trying to ditch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not been trying very hard, have you?” His voice was getting louder and he coughed, and again, into the crook of his bony elbow. “I haven’t done a damn thing to you. I’ve put up with you this entire time, uprooted my whole damn life to ferry you safe to London, put up with your obsession with that fucking book, and what thanks do I get?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why did you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed to be wrestling with something. “Because I’m a decent guy, and there ain’t many chances for a man to prove it these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Decent guy? He’d pulled her sobbing from her mother’s hands, denied her the right to say a proper goodbye--he’d dragged her away from her home and into this pathetic circus of caves and stupid mutts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t a decent guy. You’re a… bastard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought he was going to slap her, and she wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. She deserved it, maybe. Her mother would be so angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But no--he was crying. Actual tears. His face was a mess. He looked exhausted as he glanced around at the mess that surrounded them, the crashed vehicles and the charred bones. What did he have to cry about? It was only the end of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clutched the book close to her heart. Maybe she could absorb some of its good energy. It seemed a lifetime ago that they had marvelled at the sunrise together. Would she go back, if she could?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So--what--you’d rather I left you in Durham with Robbie fucking Samson, perv extrordinaire, Durham’s biggest predator?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have let me say goodbye! I hate you,” she said, and it was half-true but that didn’t make it any easier. “I hate you and I want to go the rest of the way on my own.” It was a straight line, mostly. Just the M1 and then the M25, even she couldn’t mess that up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your own? You wouldn’t last five minutes.” He was still weeping. She wished he’d stop that. He swiped at his tears with his dirty hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would not! How would you eat? How would you keep warm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These were all problems she would figure out later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you fight off mutts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a point there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said, suddenly regretting how she’d talked to him. He was all she had. So what if he’d never let her say goodbye, at least he was trying. God, she was mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But no,” he was carrying on, “Head off on your own. Don’t stop on my account. Take your precious book, pray to your precious goddess, maybe she’ll light the way. Follow the yellow brick road, Dorothy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hated it when he spoke in language she didn’t understand. It felt like it did when she read a particularly difficult section of the book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to apologise but the words wouldn’t come out. There was something rotten in her chest that was choking her from the inside out. It grew in her ribs like a demon. She was so angry at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, you might as well take the gun, Rambo,” he pulled it from his inside pocket and shoved it at her chest with little grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers gripped around the handle. She’d never touched it before. Was it loaded? She didn’t know how guns worked, really, had no clue at all about them. She was just a kid, but here she was clutching her icy fingers around one. It felt heavier than she expected, more weighted in the handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck’s sake,” Lorne yelled at the sky. It was white, just white, purer than snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, in half a second, he was on the floor clutching at his knee, and Frankie was deafened by the sound of what was, undeniably, gunfire. Blood spattered out of his wound like a spout, red on the floor. So much red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorne!” She thought for a mad second that she’d done it, somehow, that she’d fired the gun without even meaning to. You heard so many stories… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get down!” his voice was strangled with the pain and more blood pooled out, staining the grey snow. It wasn’t her, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie dropped onto her belly, tasting ash and dust. It was acidic like bile, and she spluttered as she fought for air. Another gunshot whistled through the air above her. Had she been a split second slower, she’d be caught. Tears filled her vision, and her heart was somewhere in her throat, choking her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was happening?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorne?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was gasping in pain, clutching his knee and wheeling about madly, trying to find the source. “I’m fine.” He was a terrible liar. “Who’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no reply, but in her lowered field of vision Frankie saw two pairs of feet step out from behind a nearby lorry. They were booted and lined, and they crunched in the broken glass from car windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move and we’ll shoot,” one of them said, a man with a gruff voice like maybe he’d been smoking his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That goes for both of you.” The other was a teenage boy not much older than Frankie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne lowered himself down gingerly, staring at his leg as it pumped blood out onto the tarmac.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first man tutted. “Did I hit an artery?” He didn’t sound sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie lay frozen on the floor, clutching the gun and the book as though they were her lifelines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorne groaned. “Are you Robbie’s men?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye,” said the teen. “He knows who we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older man snickered. “Didn’t know you were being followed though, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie felt dizzy. Was it possible to fall over if you were already lying down? They’d been followed this whole time? The caves and Leicester and now the home stretch? She would never be free of Robbie, never in a million years. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help me,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she said to Hausōs in her head, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know this isn't your usual thing but, please, help me be brave. Send them away, send Robbie away, and I’ll pray to you every day of my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up,” said the older man as he crossed over to her, but she couldn’t move. Every one of her muscles had set like concrete. All she could do was cry into the snow and try to breathe. “You’re coming with us.” He grabbed hold of the back of her coat and hoisted her up to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking quickly, she hid the gun and book both in her pockets. She didn’t want these men to find either of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going,” she said, her voice breaking like a squeaky wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch her!” Lorne tried to get up off his knees, but the teen pointed the weapon at him and raised an eyebrow. There was something in those eyes that told Frankie he wanted to shoot Lorne; was looking for any excuse to pull the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do what I fuckin’ like to her,” said the elder. He shook Frankie firmly. “I’ll do what I like and then I’ll take her back to Robbie and he can do what he likes, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie retched, the panic setting fire to her insides. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please please please, you goddess, listen to me, the only goddess I know. I have no one else to ask. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her legs felt like jelly as she stood there shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robbie weren’t best pleased when he realised you were gone,” said the elder. “But I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you behave yourself. He’s the forgiving type, our Prince.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie almost laughed. Robbie was a bully and a tyrant, a madman who promoted himself to royalty just because there was no one to stop him. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. He ruled Durham, yes, but Frankie knew the people were just biding their time until they could plan an assassination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d left Durham to escape Robbie, left her mother and her friends and her cat, and now here they were. Nowhere was far enough. Robbie would pursue her to the ends of the Earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll never go with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ain’t got a choice, Princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen was still pointing his gun at Lorne, and he cocked it, a sick grin sliding across his face. He squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out, echoing down the empty road. Lorne doubled over in pain, clutching at his stomach uselessly. Frankie saw blood and something fleshier besides spilling out of his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorne!” she screamed, and the older man shoved her back onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stomped up to his junior. “What the hell are you doing?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What? I didn’t want him to follow us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I shot him in the leg, idiot.” There was a moment in which the only sound was Lorne’s pained groaning. “Go on then, put him out of his misery. We ain’t animals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen made to shoot again and Frankie clambered to her feet. She pulled the gun from her pocket, pointed it in his general direction, and squeezed the trigger. It was tough and stiff, but she was getting stronger by the day and the adrenaline helped. She squeezed. She closed her eyes. The gunshot cut through the air, flying wildly over everyone’s heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck?” said the teen. He lowered his gun, distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annie’s got a gun!” the elder hooted. He moved closer to Frankie and went to wrench the gun out of her grasp. Everyone was looking at Frankie as she tried not to panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one fluid motion, Lorne launched to his feet, slipped the knife from his belt and jammed it into the elder’s belly. Once, twice, a third time, each movement tearing through his body. Lorne stuck the knife in and pulled upwards in a motion that Frankie did not think his bony little body was capable of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder screamed, went white as a sheet, and shoved Lorne backwards. The teen descended on them, and Frankie raised the gun again. This time she was closer, and she did not miss. His brain matter sprayed out across her face, leaving blood and ick dribbling down her neck and onto her coat. The teen dropped dead, just a lump in the snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder was still wrestling with Lorne. There was blood everywhere; the snow was red and steaming, melting in little rivulets. Lorne jabbed again with the knife, and he caught the elder’s throat, in the soft little crevice beneath his Adam’s apple. They struggled and for a second Frankie thought Lorne had been stabbed too, but then he wrenched the knife free and it was over. Hot blood showered from the elder’s neck, and the snow guzzled it up. He fell to the ground. Didn’t even make a noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their assailants dead, Lorne collapsed on the floor, hands clutching his stomach as though that would do any good keeping the blood and innards in. There was something brown and pulsing hanging out of him, and his coat was slick with blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorne!” she dove to his side. She wasn’t sure where to touch or what to do. “No, no, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughed and there was blood in it. It bubbled from between his teeth. “I don’t--ah--I don’t think I’ll make it to London, lass. You get your wish after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like this! This wasn’t how she’d wanted things to go. She already regretted the argument, and what she’d called him, and how horrible she’d been, and now here he was dying for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” was all she could manage. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sorry. Hey! Listen to me--ah--never be sorry. Be brave instead, be ruthless. Be brave. Can you be brave, kiddo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffed. “I can try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to be alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll--uh--you’ll be fine. Just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I stay with you, as it happens?” She was thinking of her mother, how she’d never got to say goodbye and how much that bothered her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Lorne gasped. His voice was guttural and thick, now, laced with blood. It would not be long. “Read to me, why don’t you? Read from your precious book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s read about Hausōs. Shall we pray to her? Look--the sun’s coming out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked up into the sky. It was almost blueish, almost pretty. The sun was peering out from beyond the clouds. They blinked in awe of its light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was so bright.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was noon by now and the sun was in full force. Their breath no longer fogged up, and the snow was getting patchy. There was grass poking up from underneath it, real grass, green and everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankie felt warm as she basked beneath the rays. She unzipped her coat and rolled up her sleeves. She settled down in the thawing snow besides Lorne and pulled the book from her pocket. It was curling somewhat at the edges and the spine was cracked and damaged, but it would last. It had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chapter Five,” she read. “Auseklis and the Golden Chamber. Auseklis is the Latvian person--pers--personifi… cation, personification of the dawn. Rarely in such myths is this figure a god, not a goddess, strictly male. His symbol is the octagram, or the pentagram, which as in other traditions represents Venus, the morning star herself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked to her side. Lorne was still. His ragged breathing had stopped. He was white, so white, and so very small looking. His eyes were closed and he looked, for a second, like he was sleeping in the sunlight. She wished he was sleeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed the book and got to her feet. Her boots sloshed in the melting snow. She trod on icy grass and listened to it crunch. The winter was over, or it would be soon. She returned to where they’d left the cart, and she checked their belongings. Everything was untouched. She put the gun back into her own inside pocket and felt its secure weight there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could do this. She would go on. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have no choice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at the sky and the gold glowing sun, and chose to believe that the sun looked back.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her eyes were wide open now, blinking in the vista below: her beautiful land returned to her. There was grass, what a novelty; there hadn’t been grass for years. Wet with warming ice and dew, but undeniably real--and, oh, how green it was. The sky was blue now, bluer than it had been in so very long. The snow was clinging on, but it would be gone soon. Time is healing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The little voice was alone again, but she was strong. Frankie her name was, a little thing, still a child really, but she grew stronger with every step she took. She had the book, had the stories--and she would spread the word. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hausōs took wing in her chariot and led the sun across the sky, the dance she’d perfected millenia ago, the dance of the ages, on this the new morn of humankind. She left stars in her wake. She disturbed the clouds. She said hello to flowers and starlings alike.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Somewhere on Earth, the sun came up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>